Who Posts an Advertisement for Revenge?
by EvanescingSky
Summary: Hawke and co. first become acquainted with Sebastian Vael.


"Well that looks like a promising chance for work," Varric remarked as the archer strode past them, leaving his notice pinned to the chantry board. The attending sister did not tear it down again, despite her look of potent disapproval. Hawke promptly went over and pulled it off herself to have a look.

"Is this for real?" Aveline asked, looking it over. "What kind of prince posts an _advertisement_ for revenge?"

"He's probably full of shit," Varric said. "Just wants us to do some work and figures he'll get more takers this way. Just like one of those deposed princes always looking for funds."

"What if it's true, though?" Bethany asked. "What a terrible thing, for your whole family to be murdered!"

"Even if he is a liar," Hawke said, "as long as he can pay us _something_…" She looked sideways and met Bethany's eyes. They had that sisterly way of speaking that avoided the necessity of direct conversation, but in this case, the remarks weren't hard to guess on. They desperately needed coin for Bartrand's expedition—even if this Sebastian was a fraud, as long as he could pay them, it didn't matter if he was the prince of Starkhaven or a wench at the Blooming Rose. In Kirkwall, coin was the only thing that spoke.

"Wouldn't hurt to take down some of these mercenaries, in any case," Aveline commented, then awkwardly met Hawke's gaze.

"Flint…I'll see if Meeran knows something about them," Hawke decided, rolling the advertisement up and slipping it into a pouch at her hip. "He may be able to tell us where to find them."

"Don't tell me you're still in contact with him," Aveline said as they headed out of the square.

"I don't _want_ to be," Hawke said. She hunched her shoulders and looked away from Aveline. "But you know how little work there is for Fereldens here, and…"

"Hawke's damn good at her job," Varric filled in when Hawke declined to own up to it.

"I know," Aveline said grimly, a stern frown setting on her face. She had heard enough of the goings-on in Lowtown and amongst the guard's investigations to know that Hawke was noteworthy among Kirkwall's many criminal elements.

"I'm not doing jobs for him anymore," Hawke said, not mentioning that Meeran had made it clear he was still willing to have her on third-party if she had the time. "But he knows about the gangs in the Free Marches, and I've only heard of Flint Company in passing. I'm just going to him for information." She let out a low sigh. "Once we get back from this expedition, we'll be done with mercenary work for good," she promised Aveline. "We'll have enough to hold us over until Bethany and I can find real work."

"What about Leandra?" Aveline asked. "Has she found anything yet?" It was the tone of someone asking a question to which they already knew the answer. Hawke demurred again, her eyes finding something to study on a distant road tile.

"No."

"Mother takes care of the house," Bethany put in without a hint of disappointment or disapproval, to her credit. "That's not something Uncle Gamlen's ever put much effort into!" It didn't look like Leandra put much effort into it either, but Aveline did not say so. The house was kept relatively tidy, but damages were infrequently repaired and Aveline had been, on occasion, uncomfortable party to monetary squabbles between the Amell siblings.

"Once we're done with this, it won't matter if Mother can find work or not," Hawke said firmly. "I'll have it all taken care of."

"You know, Hawke, not everything has to be your responsibility," Aveline said.

"My family is, though," Hawke replied.

"So, how about this trip we're supposed to take up the mountain, huh?" Varric said. "We getting paid for that?"

"It'll be a relief to be out of Gamlen's house," Hawke sighed, leaning back against a wall. Her eyes scanned the Hightown market, waiting for Hubert to show up so she could question him about the situation at the Bone Pit.

"Yeah?"

"There's just not enough room," she said, looking down at Varric. "The house was never meant for four people, never mind a working dog." She shook her head. "Mother thinks she can get the Amell estate back from the viscount…I'd be happy if we can just buy a bigger house down in Lowtown. Someplace she could at least have her own room."

"I'm sure it'll be nice to get out of your uncle's place," Varric said.

"I don't have that much of a problem with Gamlen," Hawke said. "Mother and Bethany take much bigger issue with him. Uncle Gamlen is what he is: irresponsible, a bit self-centered, and lazy. But even if we didn't like the method, he did get us into the city. And he has let us stay with him for the last year. We haven't been able to contribute _anything_, since we've been working free for Meeran. Hopefully with what we get from the expedition, we'll be able to pay him back something. I don't like being in debt to people, even family."

"Especially family!" Varric put in. Hawke hummed in agreement, scuffing the toe of her boot against the stones.

"Meeran's offered me another job," she admitted at last.

"He did seem sorry to see you go," Varric said. "What's the job?"

"He sent one of his men down to the docks to off an Orlesian nobleman and hasn't heard from him," she said. "He wants me to investigate and make sure the target is removed."

"Are you going to take it?" Hawke looked up at the sky, a dusty blue as the sun crested up over the horizon. The light touched only the tips of the chantry and the viscount's keep. It would be another hour or two before the sun's light managed to touch the streets of Kirkwall. Already, smoke billowed up from the foundry district, staining the pristine sky and forming the base of the haze that hung daily over Kirkwall. Over a year in the city, and Hawke still felt like a stranger there.

"I don't know. I don't want to. But we need the money. I said I'd never work for Meeran again when we finished our one year. But he knows us, and trusts us, and is willing to pay good coin for my work." She heaved a sigh and pressed the back of her head against the wall. "Is it wrong not to take the job, if it gets us closer to being away from mercenary work forever? Can I make the argument that if I don't kill him, Meeran will?"

"I would say yes, but it sounds like you have a different answer," Varric replied, rubbing his hands together. In the show of the city walls, in the tender hours of the morning, there was a chill in the air.

"I told him I didn't want it, but…I can go fetch his man, at least," she said. "I don't know about killing this nobleman. But I can find out what happened."

"You think Meeran will be satisfied with that?"

"Not a chance. But he might pay me _something_ for it." Hawke sighed again, shut her eyes for a moment, then straightened up when she saw Hubert stroll into the marketplace, heading to set up his stall.

"Reay to find out why they call it the Bone Pit?" Varric asked, looking up at her. He had yet to ask about the red slash across her nose—he assumed it was a Ferelden thing, like the tattoos.

"Ready as always, Varric," she answered.

"They're beyond stupid to be holed up down here," Varric said as he shouldered his crossbow. "Do they have any idea how many other gangs work the docks? I'm surprised no one else got to them before we did."

"Lucky they didn't, in this case," Hawke observed, scrutinizing the area for any last Flint Company members who might be cowering behind barrels or crouching on rooftops. Prince Sebastian's message had wanted the total annihilation of the company, and while he did not say he wouldn't settle for less, Hawke did not make a name for herself in the Red Iron by leaving jobs half-done.

"Does this mean we're done for the night?" Fenris asked, scraping at his teeth with one finger. "Or are we still going after Samson's information on the runaway mages?"

"Done!" Bethany laughed. "I don't think a surprise attack by a gang has _ever_ put my sister off!"

"She is quite formidable," Fenris agreed. "I do not envy our enemies." Hawke was bent over, examining one of the bodies, when she abruptly closed her fingers around the locket the woman was wearing and unclasped it from her neck.

"Is it time for that?" Varric asked, crouching to rifle through a man's pockets.

"No merc wears something this nice," Hawke observed, studying the fine metalwork in the moonlight. She brushed a thumb over it, guessing that the silver was genuine. "It's stolen. Maybe from the Vael family. I'll see if the prince wants this back too." She slipped it into her side pouch.

"According to Meeran, that was the last hideout of Flint," Bethany said. "Does this mean we're done, we can claim the reward?"

"Better keep our ears to the ground for a while longer," Hawke advised. "The last thing we want is to claim we've done it and then find out we missed a few."

"Agreed," Fenris said. "Haste will not serve us well."

"Not like we don't have plenty of things to do in the meantime," Varric said. "Hawke, you're going to need to start keeping a checklist to keep track of all these jobs!" Hawke huffed out a short, determined breath and lifted her gaze to the direction of the warehouse Samson had told them about.

"We're getting close," she said. "Another couple…dozen…jobs and we should be there."

"If this prince gives us the reward promised, we may be there sooner," Fenris said.

"If," Varric echoed.

"All this so we can take on another job," Bethany sighed.

"But once that one's done, you'll be set," Varric urged. "You'll never have to work again, Sunshine!" Bethany grinned.

"Wouldn't that be nice?" she said. "But what would we _do_ all day?"

"Lounge about and discuss how dreadful it is to be so wealthy!" Varric cackled. "Or argue about whose ancestors have accomplished more. Going off my own personal experience here."

"Find other people to do your work for you," Fenris said.

"Breed Mabaris," Hawke suggested.

"See? Plenty of ideas," Varric said. Bethany smiled, drawing a matching response from her sister.

"I'm sure we'll come up with something," she said, moving her staff to her other hand.

"We'll certainly have the time to," Varric said.

"I know Varric only means well, but I wish he'd stop making jokes about how intimidating I am." Aveline drummed her fingers against the table as Hawke sat down and passed Aveline her drink. The last dying light of the day—whatever managed to cut through the jumble of buildings and constant smoggy haze in Lowtown—reached its fingers through the windows, illuminating the ceiling. Candles and braziers lit the room closer to eye level.

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"It seems like a silly thing to bother talking about," she said. Hawke made a noncommittal sound and took a long drink from her pint. "Doesn't it bother you? Always standing out so much?"

"At least I don't have red hair," Hawke said, then lowered her drink. "Sorry. Lothering was such a small town, I was 'big girl' from the time I was eight. I guess I'm used to it."

"And it doesn't bother you?" Hawke shrugged.

"Whether it does or it doesn't doesn't really matter, does it? It is what it is." Aveline frowned and took a drink. "Does it bother you?"

"Sometimes," she admitted, still frowning. "Don't you think-just once in a while—that it would be nice to be small and slender and pretty like Isabela? Maker, what a stupid thing to say. I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me."

"If I was built like Isabela, I couldn't swing this," Hawke said, slapping a hand on her two-handed sword.

"You're right. And I don't really mean that. Well, maybe a couple times in my life I meant it. I just wish people didn't feel the need to _comment_ so often."

"Wesley liked you the way you are," Hawke pointed out.

"Wesley's not here. And it's more than that. It's knowing that I draw attention just by walking into the room. When people hear the guard captain is a woman, they still don't expect her to be someone who could throw them over her shoulder."

"You want to blend in more?"

"I don't know. I guess? I just don't hear people commenting so much about Varric's appearance, or Merrill's, or Anders'. Why us? Because we're big women and that's unnatural? That's what it feels like. Every man who makes a joke about my height acts like I must never have heard one before."

"Ugh! You're right about that," Hawke agreed, pulling a face and taking another drink. "Of course, every man who ever makes a joke to a woman thinks it's the cleverest thing in the world." She snorted and Aveline let a smile spread on her face.

"That's true. They all think they're the first to ever hit on a woman."

"Oh, Isabela will be sorry she wasn't here to join on the fun," Hawke said, smirking.

"She said she'd be by later," Aveline said.

"Yes, but 'later' for Isabela could be two in the morning, and I can't stay that long," said Hawke. It was her turn to frown, and she shifted her grip around on her pint. "I don't like leaving Bethany alone," she confided in a low voice to Aveline. "Even at the house."

"Are you that worried about Templars?" Aveline asked, raising her eyebrows as she leaned in. "Surely they're too busy to notice one apostate Ferelden refugee."

"That's what we're counting on." Hawke pushed her pint back and forth on the rough wood of the table. "But I still worry. There's a chance. She says I've gotten too defensive of her lately, and she's right. Keeping her constantly under my eye is just another form of captivity, like the Circle. But after Carver…I think losing Bethany would just break Mother. She and Uncle Gamlen wouldn't know what to do if the Templars showed up on our doorstep."

"What would _you _do?" Aveline asked, frowning more deeply than she had yet that night. Hawke's face set into a splendidly fatalistic grimace.

"I'm not really sure," she said, in a tone that made Aveline hope they never had to find out. "But I would want to be there."

"He could've left us an address," Merrill said. "That would have been helpful."

"He was arguing with a chantry sister when we saw him last," Hawke said. "She might know something about where to find him. Or maybe he frequents the area." Butch trotted along at their heels, sticking close to Merrill's side. Ever since he had discovered it was easy to beg food off her, she had become one of his favorite people.

"It might've been wise to figure out how we were going to contact him before we did all the work," Varric said.

"Thank you, Varric, for the timely suggestion," Hawke said, turning to look down at him. "Anything else you'd like to offer up? We should've had bacon for breakfast? Should've gone to Tantervale instead of Kirkwall?"

"Alright, alright," Varric said.

"Should've worn my other gauntlets today?" Hawke went on. Merrill snickered.

"I'm just saying, if he's hightailed it out of the city, we killed a bunch of mercenaries for nothing. Well, outside what we stole from them."

"I did get a nice pair of boots out of it," Bethany said, twisting to admire them.

"It's about time, too," Hawke said. "Yours have had holes in them for ages."

"Yours still have holes in them," Bethany said. Hawke waved a hand.

"I'll get new ones before the expedition. We have more important things to worry about now."

First, they returned the remains of one Sister Plinth to a chantry brother, which meant even if they didn't find Sebastian, they hadn't trekked up to the chantry for nothing. But as they had reasoned, the man who had pinned the revenge request to the chantry board was there, deeply engaged in a book. Hawke came to a stop a safe distance and cleared her throat. Butch stopped and sat at her feet.

Who could blame the prince for being somewhat alarmed to turn and see Hawke and co. looming there? Hawke herself approached six feet high, which gave her at least an inch on him at full height, never mind the two-handed blade strapped to her back or the foreign tattoos that boldened her chin and forehead. Beside her, the slavering Mabari warhound sat bound only by her word, and Varric stood with his homemade crossbow and cocksure expression. Bethany and Merrill acted as a counterweight to the initial appearance, but even Merrill stood out in the chantry with her Dalish vallaslin and her nervous air.

"Flint Company is dead," Hawke reported as if they were guards giving a debrief to their captain. "Every one of them we could find in Kirkwall." The prince stood blinking his startlingly blue eyes and then seemed to come to.

"My notice," he realized. "Grand Cleric Elthina let it stay? I thought she would tear it down." His eyes roved over Hawke's face, her weapons, her company. It looked as if he had found a mercenary to kill a mercenary. Did it matter, as long as the ones who had slaughtered his family were gone? Perhaps Elthina had been right—he had hired a killer to commit the same sin he sought to avenge. Was there justice in that? Was there righteousness? Or did it simply please him to spill the blood of those who had taken his family from him?

"It seems like he wasn't expecting us," Merrill whispered to Bethany.

"I'm sorry about your family," Hawke said. "Do you know why anyone would want them dead?"

"My parents had enemies, I'm sure, but they always managed the nobles well," he mused, rubbing his chin. "They did not allow dissent to brew among them. I have not yet determined who hired the mercenaries."

"Who are you?" Varric asked. "Really."

"My name is Sebastian Vael. My family are the rightful rulers of Starkhaven going back six generations," he said, lifting his chin and straightening his back. "For now, a cousin of mine is claiming ownership of the throne, but he's…not clever enough to think of this himself." Varric snorted quietly; among royals, it wasn't hard to imagine what "not clever" might be referencing. "Thank you, for doing this," he said to Hawke. "I truly did not expect anyone else to care about this but myself." He produced a coin purse and shook a fistful of gold coins into his hand, which he dropped into Hawke's palm. "Consider this an advance. When I retake my lands, your rewards will be royal."

"There was this, too," Hawke said. She stowed the coins—failing not to gawk at the amount of gold in her hand as Bethany and Merrill's mouths dropped open—and produced the locket she had taken from one of the mercenaries. "I found it on one of the mercenaries. Does it mean anything to you?"

Sebastian reached out, a faint tremor in his hand, and took the jewel from Hawke.

"My mother's locket," he said softly, popping the catch to examine the inside. He looked up at Hawke, his eyes shining with feeling. "Thank you. This was more than I asked for. You could have kept it for yourself but you did not. I am surprised but immensely grateful for your work and your honesty—?"

"Hawke," she supplied. Over the course of her first year in Kirkwall, Hawke's first name had become all but obsolete. Meeran only ever referred to her by her surname, and everyone in the Red Iron or in their vicinity took his lead (Bethany was simply _Hey, you_, or _Mage!_ and occasionally _Little Hawke_ from the kinder members of the troupe). She had gotten into the habit of introducing herself as such, even with Bethany by her side.

"Hawke. Thank you, Hawke. You have done me a great service."

"I hope your family can rest in peace," she said. "And you as well."

"I hope so too," he said.

Hawke and friends, reward obtained, turned to go, and were chided by a chantry sister.

"Must you bring such weapons into a place of worship?" she asked, gesturing to Hawke's sword and Varric's crossbow. Her dark brow was furrowed and a deep frown set her face. Bethany looked askance, but Merrill seemed not to have considered the appearance of the situation at all.

"Forgive us, sister," Hawke said. "We only came to speak with the prince. We'll be going now."

"There's a donation bowl for the refugees," Bethany murmured to Hawke as they headed for the door. They shared a look and Hawke dug out several of the gold coins Sebastian had just deposited into her hand. She looked again to Bethany, and then dropped them into the bowl. "It's good to offer what we can," Bethany said as they exited the chantry. "It makes me feel better, thinking we can help."

"You're so sweet, Bethany," Merrill said. "It's so kind of you to be concerned."

"No different than you wanting to help the elves, is it?" Bethany asked as they descended the great stairs down to the chantry square.

"I suppose. But plenty of people—elves and humans—don't try to help at all, even if they could."

"Let's count those down at the Hanged Man," Varric said, looking to Hawke's coin purse. "I think we're nearly there."

Sebastian Vael did not forget about Hawke.

It might have been more convenient for him if he did. But she had become inextricably tied in his mind to the quest for justice for his family. Their meeting in the chantry felt charged with significance; he could not forget her piercing eyes, or the way her straw-blonde hair turned rose-gold under the light from the chantry windows, and how the light had played with the tattoos on her face. She had even returned his mother's locket!

That was how he ended up at the Hanged Man, listening to Hawke bicker with Aveline and Fenris.

Hawke had taken Sebastian up on the offer of his services—he seemed out of place, in a way, as most of her friends seemed to be, so why shouldn't she have him along? He was a crack shot with a bow too, and with Hawke's typical jobs, that was nothing to dismiss. And when she looked at him, she had the distinct feeling he was going to rush into something and get himself killed. Why not take him into her merry band of misfits? It was only after accepting the offer she realized none of them had any idea what to do with a _prince_ paling around with them. Introducing him to Merrill was half a nightmare all on its own, although if he disapproved of her blood magic—and Hawke suspected the answer was yes, merely due to the Chantry's stance on it—he kept it to himself, which was more than Anders or Fenris could say.

"So…are we supposed to call you something special?" Merrill asked as they made their way to Lowtown. They had business there with someone called Dougal, and Hawke thought it might be prudent to introduce Sebastian to the rest of them.

"Yeah. Is this a 'Your Grace' or a 'Your Highness' situation?" Varric asked. When Sebastian turned and saw all three of them staring, he may have begun to wonder if he'd made a wise decision. "Or perhaps 'Your Most Illustrious and Only Slightly Deposed Glory'?"

"Just Sebastian is fine," he said.

"Oh that's a relief. Remembering titles seems so stressful," Merrill said.

Walking into Lowtown was an experience. Since coming to Kirkwall, Sebastian had not spent—well, _any_ time there. Why would he? His help, he had always assumed, would come from Kirkwall's nobility.

"So you…live here?" he said to Hawke, watching a merchant hawking what looked like homemade faux cure-alls from the bottom step of the bridge leading down into the poorer section of Kirkwall. The stench of the local tanneries perfumed the air, and some of the crooked buildings reached up so high it seemed they were trying to blot out the sun.

"No, not anymore," Hawke said. "But we did, when we first came to Kirkwall. And we were lucky to get in. If it wasn't for Uncle Gamlen, I don't know what we would have done."

"I live here," Merrill volunteered. "Well not _here_ on this spot, but down in the alienage. Does Starkhaven have an alienage?"

"It does, but I've never been to it," Sebastian replied.

"I wonder if it's anything like Kirkwall's. I hope not."

"Is the alienage here not well?" Sebastian asked.

"It's only the dirtiest, most crowded, crime-infested part of the city outside Darktown, which doesn't legally exist," Varric said. "Daisy's got a good attitude—don't let that fool you."

"I thought your name was Merrill?"

"Varric's just fond of nicknames," Merrill said, turning to face them and walk backwards as they made for the Hanged Man. "You're welcome to come visit me in the alienage, if you like. Hawke's friends are my friends too." Hawke couldn't help but smile, charmed as ever by Merrill's sweet temperament, despite the many obstacles that beset her—some of them the attitudes of Hawke's own friends.

"Thank you," Sebastian said with surprising veracity. "It would be my pleasure."

"Oh, really? Grand! I'll try to have something to eat in the house," Merrill said, her eyes lighting up. She had dodged Hawke bringing in another companion who relentlessly harped on her for her magical practices.

Sebastian stuck close to them through Lowtown, though he did not gawk as much as Varric had expected. He walked rigidly and his eyes kept darting around, trying to keep track of every movement around them, but he managed to refrain from staring. Until they reached the Hanged Man, where he stopped to take in the larger-than-life-size wooden sculpture dangling off the building by one foot.

"That's…charming," he said at length. Hawke snorted and Varric sniggered.

"Sure, there's a way to describe the Hanged Man," Varric said. "Best tavern in Kirkwall, I'll swear by it." He slapped Sebastian on the back—or as high up as he could reach, which was dangerously low—and led them in.

"Aveline promised she would come by when her shift is over," Merrill reminded them as they weaved through the tables, always helter-skelter around the room wherever the day's earlier patrons had shoved them.

"Fenris is supposed to come too," Hawke said as they sat down. "But he was also supposed to come yesterday. I think he loses track of time in that house."

Varric came to the table with a tray of drinks and virtually everything went downhill after that.

The dull and painfully awkward tale of how Hawke ended up sequestered in Varric's private rooms in the Hanged Man, haggling it out with Aveline about why Sebastian should be allowed to stay with them was not worth noting. He was not supposed to be overhearing the conversation, and he could see Merrill desperately trying to wave him back to the table, but now that he knew the subject of the conversation was, as he had suspected, himself, he couldn't just walk away.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to have him around?" Aveline was saying. "Think about who you travel with, Hawke. Fenris isn't the only one who doesn't need authority figures poking into his life."

"He's hardly an authority figure, Aveline. He's a deposed prince from another city. _You_ have more reason to cause trouble for Fenris than Sebastian."

"A deposed prince who is looking to regain his crown! Merrill is a _blood mage_, Hawke! And don't even get me started on Anders!"

"Sebastian is looking for _help_, he's not going to turn us over to the Templars!"

"And you're willing to gamble your friends' lives on that?"

"If he does become a threat, we can always drop him in a ditch," came Fenris' low, gravelly voice.

"Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed.

"Can we keep in mind that he volunteered to fight with a known mercenary?" Varric said.

"Hawke's not a mercenary anymore," Aveline said.

"Yeah, but choir-boy doesn't know that yet. And how exactly would you define the kind of work she's doing now?"

"Just because he can get something he needs from us doesn't mean he won't sell us out further down the road," Aveline warned. "I think you should have been more careful about this, Hawke. And what exactly are you planning to do for him anyway? What if the Harimanns are guilty? Will you kill them? These people aren't Flint Company or Meeran! People will notice, and _care_, if something happens to them!"

"We're just going to investigate," Hawke said.

"That is a job for the city guard!"

"You're always saying how your resources are stretched to breaking! Consider this my taking something off your plate."

"What business of it is yours what happens to the Starkhaven throne?" Aveline demanded. "Will you march into Starkhaven to put some petty prince back on his throne?"

"He's going to get himself killed if he's not careful," Hawke said. "I'm just trying to make sure that doesn't happen. I don't give a fig about the throne of Starkhaven but I know what it's like to lose family in a violent and unexpected way, and _you _of all people, Aveline, should understand!"

"Don't you _dare_ bring Wesley into this. Or are you trying to make up for what happened to Bethany? You can't save everyone, Hawke, you can't take one everyone's problems!"

"Maybe I can't, but I can do this!" Hawke shouted.

"Hey, can everyone calm down?" Varric asked.

"I just don't see why you _care_ about this!"

"Because he's going to get himself killed if he goes on like this, Aveline! Am I supposed to just stand by and let it happen? Someone who is willing to depose a royal family isn't going to let a valid heir to the throne get away. Look at what happened to Maric's bastard!"

"Dozens of people in this city die weekly," Aveline answered. "Why does this one matter to you?"

"Because I was in the right place at the right time. If you believe in the Maker, call it that. Maybe it's a test."

"And if I don't?"

"Then just call it the right thing to do. I couldn't _not_ offer to help. I just couldn't."

"And you also had to invite him along with us?"

"He wanted to come. I didn't see any harm in it. We've told him about Merrill already."

"He's affiliated with the Chantry. Do you really think he won't turn her over to the Templars?"

"I wouldn't stop him if he did," Fenris said.

"Nobody is turning anyone over the Templars," Varric emphasized.

"I don't like this," Aveline said. "It puts me on edge, Hawke. I don't know if you made the right decision."

"Why don't we agree to give him a chance for now?" Varric said. "If things start to go sideways, we'll figure something out. We always manage."

"I agree with Varric," said Hawke. "Once we're done with the Harimanns, I'm sure he'll be on his merry way back to Starkhaven."

"I don't know how merry reclaiming a lost throne is," Varric said.

"I don't like it, Hawke. But I'll side with you, for now. As long as he doesn't think he's going to get any special treatment from the guard or anyone else because of his family name."

"Hasn't complained about having dinner in the Hanged Man," Varric pointed out.

"He also hasn't seen the food yet," said Fenris.

Sebastian took the chance to slink away from the door, and back to the table, where Merrill had given up her frantic signaling. She was looking forlornly into a full pint and when he sat, she pushed a plate of bread and…_something_ dark and squishy over to him.

"So, em…what did they say?"

"Your friend Aveline doesn't want me here," he said.

"Aveline, really? Why not?" Sebastian sighed.

"A lot of reasons, it seems. Hawke disagrees. I can't really tell what the others think."

"They'll come around," Merrill urged, reaching over to put a hand over his. "They came around to me! …mostly. Fenris and Anders still don't like me. But Aveline is a good woman. She keeps the guard away from Fenris' house, and she kept Hawke safe when she was working as a mercenary. Once she sees you don't mean any harm, she'll be nicer."

"I'll just have to prove myself," Sebastian agreed, nodding. "I shouldn't have expected everyone to agree to this at once. I only thought I had better offer Hawke some help, if I was asking such a favor of her."

"Hawke likes to help," Merrill said with a smile. "I'm sure she doesn't mind at all. It's nice to have new people in the group! So you're an archer, then? I'm sure that will be useful! Varric's an archer too, I'm sure he'll tell you all about Bianca if you ask. Bianca's his crossbow."

Sebastian looked at Merrill's disarming smile, and tried to quell the anxiety twisting in his gut, telling him it had been a mistake to assume he could offer anything to Hawke, that he had overstepped his bounds, that he was not welcome here with them.

"Thank you, Merrill. You have a kind heart," he told her.

"Oh! I do try," she said, flushing a little. "Here, have something to eat, won't you?"

To their credit, when the rest of them returned to the table, they said nothing about the argument. Instead, conversation went right into complaining about the food, and Hawke remarking that even Uncle Gamlen's cooking wasn't quite as suspect as the stew at the Hanged Man. Aveline still eyed him with suspicion, but Sebastian did his best not to notice. After Fenris had explained how his lyrium tattoos allowed him to reach into a man's chest and rip out his still-beating heart, he seemed to fade into indifference on Sebastian's presence—he trusted the threat of this violence was enough to stymie any trouble Sebastian might have in store for him.

After eating, Hawke walked Sebastian back up to Hightown, insisting on depositing him on the chantry steps due to the late hour.

"It would be a shame if something happened to the prince of Starkhaven on my watch," she said.

"I doubt there are any criminals fool enough to attack with you standing by," Sebastian replied.

"You might be surprised. You _will_ be surprised, if you stick around us long enough," she said with a laugh.

"I don't know how much help you need with that," Sebastian said, on the verge of telling her he hadn't meant to cause trouble amongst her friends. The offer to help had been impulsive—not something the Grand Cleric would smile upon—and seemed to have caused Hawke more problems than it solved.

"We won't say _no_ to it," she said with a careless shrug. "And as you can see, I have some…colorful friends." She smiled. "They keep life interesting, and fun. If you can keep up with us, we're glad to have you."

"_You_ might be, but your friends…"

"Oh, don't mind Aveline," Hawke said, waving a hand. "She's very practical is all. An excellent guard—she sees trouble in every corner. But she won't cause you any problems as long as you don't give her reason to. And Fenris…well, that's just Fenris. I'm not sure he _likes_ anyone without spending time with them. Varric I'd trust with my life." She put a hand over her heart. "They're all good people, even if they're a bit wild sometimes. Anders too. You'll meet him eventually—he's a challenge, but he has a good heart."

"I really have to thank you—all of you—again for agreeing to help me with this," said Sebastian. "I don't know who else I could go to."

"We specialize in tough cases," Hawke said, her eyes twinkling in the dim light.

"That does sound familiar. Did you really buy your way into Hightown with treasure from your expedition into the Deep Roads?"

"I really did," Hawke said. "Next to that, investigating the Harimanns should be a daytrip. We'll get you taken care of," she promised. "And in the meantime, you can get a little more familiar with Lowtown."

"I'm sure that will be…interesting."

He hung around on the steps watching Hawke depart, her lone figure crossing through the murky square with eventually only the glint of passing starlight on her armor to alert him to where she was. When he had thought of who might help him retake his throne, he had not imagined an up-jumped mercenary from Ferelden would be the one, but Hawke was…remarkable. Somehow, he believed if anyone could uncover the Harimanns' doings, she could.


End file.
